


Scheduling Delivery

by okapi



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Sherlock, Femslash, Genderswap, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, Nursing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:12:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1576436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Sherlock, for the sake of all the other flammable furniture in the flat, we have to figure this out."</i> </p>
<p>Occurs after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1231210">Milk</a> and before <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1889934">Lapsang Souchong</a>. Genderswapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scheduling Delivery

John placed a cup of tea on the floor beside a Sherlock-shaped lump on the sofa. It reminded John of a teratoma—made up of hair, dressing gown, blanket, and sullenness.

“Any plans for today?”

The lump grunted something that John interpreted as ‘experiment’.

“Alright, well, laundry day for me. I’m going to go in your room and get the basket. Any clothes on the floor or anything, anywhere that looks visibly stained is fair game. Objections?”

The lump said nothing.

“Alright. Super. Fun Sunday for one, coming up,” quipped John as she tightened the belt on her dressing gown.

 

“Yours,” grunted John as she set the basket at the foot of the stairs. “Gonna get mine and some soap, put some clothes on, and I’m off to Mordor.”

Sherlock said nothing. She was sitting at the kitchen table, pouring a liquid from one glass container to another on a lit Bunsen burner. John plodded up the stairs. She was about to head back down with her basket when she heard a loud crack.

And then, she smelled smoke. She dropped the basket.

“Sherlock!”

John flew down the stairs to find the kitchen table on fire, glass exploding, and Sherlock watching the spectacle with disinterest.

John grabbed the fire extinguisher and sprayed foam on the flames.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?”

Sherlock bolted from her seat, upturning it. She stormed down the hall and slammed her bedroom door.

John ran both hands through her hair and bowed her head. Then, she took a deep breath, got a plastic bottle of water from the refrigerator, and walked down the hall.

“Sherlock, I have no idea what’s going on. I’m not going to come in. Your space is your space. But I’m here. You know that. I’m not going anywhere. Well, right now, I’m going to do the laundry. But I’m around, okay? I’m going to put a bottle of water here. Drink it, please. I love you.”

Some minutes later, John descended the stairs carefully with a heavy wicker basket hitched on her hip. She looked up as she neared the bottom, and Sherlock was there.

Looking at her. Looking _lost_.

“What _is_ it?!”

Sherlock took the basket from her and put it on top of the other one. John was on the second to last step. She made to come down, but Sherlock stopped her.

Sherlock bit her lip. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around John’s waist. John cupped the back of her head with one hand and stroked her hair with the other.

Sherlock touched her nose to the V of John’s dressing gown then, very slowly, turned her head and pressed slightly-open lips to John’s nipple through the fabric.

Sherlock looked up.

“ _Oh!_ ”

Then, John smiled and nodded. The dark clouds in Sherlock’s expression began to dissipate.

They moved silently. John arranged pillows on one end of the sofa. She leaned back on them and extended her legs. She took the blanket in one hand and waited for Sherlock to arrange herself on top of her. When they stopped shifting, John draped the blanket low around Sherlock’s shoulders.

Sherlock pressed her nose to John’s chest again and then burrowed it under the dressing gown, tracing the swell of John’s breast. Delicious curls of anticipation rose in John.

“Oh, love,” John cooed. She pushed the dressing gown aside and cupped her breast, meeting Sherlock’s hungry mouth.

Sherlock suckled relentlessly, with long, steady draws, never abandoning the pink bud. John watched, transfixed. Then, she began to massage her breast with both hands as if to physically wring every drop of succor from her flesh. In response to John’s kneading hands, Sherlock opened her lips wider and drank greedily. When John eventually pulled her off, Sherlock hiccupped. “Still hungry, love?” whispered John as she brushed Sherlock’s temple with her fingertips. Sherlock nodded into the nearest expanse of skin. “There’s more.” John pushed the other half of the dressing gown aside. Sherlock latched eagerly.

“Oh, _God_ ,” groaned John, sinking back. She felt the sting of the cool air against her raw nipple on one side and Sherlock’s wet heat on the other. The twin sensations drown all others until she heard Sherlock whimper.

“ _Cold_.”

John brought the blanket up to the back of Sherlock’s head. She untied the belt of her dressing gown and drew the sides apart, offering her naked form.

“Take my heat, love.”

Sherlock gave a soft cry and nestled further into John. While she fed again, John fashioned a cocoon of blanket and flesh around her, seeking to preserve their mutual warmth and block out the rest of the world. Finally, John pressed her little finger into Sherlock’s mouth and pried her from the aching nipple. Sherlock rested her head on John’s chest and relaxed against her. The tension of the morning had evaporated so quickly that John felt unexpectedly drowsy.

She kissed Sherlock’s brow.

“Let’s rest a bit, love.” John adjusted them and the pillows so that they were almost side-by-side, with Sherlock very tight against her. She gently rubbed her swollen teat to Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock took it, holding it motionless in her mouth. Then, John wrapped Sherlock in her arms, closed her eyes, and dozed.

When John opened her eyes again, she twisted her neck a little and caught the very sobering sight of two stacked overflowing laundry baskets. Sherlock was still snug against her under the blanket. Sherlock released her nipple and pressed a kiss over John’s heart.

John cleared her throat. “Sherlock, for the sake of all the other flammable furniture in the flat, we have to figure this out. Maybe we could have a sign. Or a word. Or maybe, a set day. Umm…”

“The 14th. Or 15th. Depending on how many days there are in the previous month.”

John barked a loud laugh. She rolled her eyes and sighed at the ceiling.

“I’m an idiot.”

“No, no, no. Don’t look like that,” said Sherlock. John could feel her smile against her skin.

“Practically everyone is.”


End file.
